The following is the word-for-word* transcription of the letter I started, but never finished, which first prompted me to consider starting a blog. In writing it, I discovered the extent of my desire for dictating my impressions of the stories I read, when I found myself 6 pages in and only half done. I did not wish to send my friend a 12+ page letter, so the letter remains unfinished, though in my possession. I had intended to edit down the content, but time passed, and I began this blog, where the edited material shall be instead (hence the similarity/quotations of some points in my posts). Now, two points: first, THERE WILL BE SPOILERS both for the stories mentioned and for my next two blog posts, and second, my thoughts today are not quite so emotionally charged as they were upon first writing the letter. I have since been able to take a more distanced approach of one story, especially upon rereading it in order to have a more balanced view. So, without further ado, let us dive into the letter that started it all:
*A few names have been removed for privacy reasons and spelling errors have been corrected, but besides that, word-for-word
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May 10, 2014
Dear X,
I have been meaning to write to you recently but had been undecided as to the content until I finished a certain, well-known classic book. If, from that statement, you reasoned I'll make that book the topic of this letter, you are half correct. I do wish to discuss the book, but primarily in comparison with another book, one I recently finished rereading, that addresses the same topic as the prior-mentioned classic: twisted love. Both stories you know, or have at least heard of, but while their subject matter is related, their approaches to the subject of twisted love is very different, as are the skills of the authors behind the stories. I suppose that's enough of an introduction, so let's move on to the comparison between C. S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces and Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera.
I believe in my last letter I mentioned I was rereading Lewis's Till We Have Faces, but in case I forgot to mention it, I will say that a few weeks ago I finished my third read through of the story; my first time being in literature class last year at R. As you might be able to tell, and perhaps already know, I love that book! I wrote to you about the impact the story had on me in realizing how I, like Orual, had become obsessed with my close relationships, such as my friendship with you, and how I was hurting myself and my impression of you. Even now, a year later, I see myself, or at least my past self, in Orual. As I read through, I found myself meditating on that time, feeling so thankful for the book, and really thinking about real love and what love means. In other words, it's a story I can connect with, immerse myself in, and makes me think about myself and reality. It's a powerful story to me. However, Lewis did not just write a story; in my eyes and mind, he practically wrote a person. That statement probably sounds silly, but I really think it's true. Each time I read Till We Have Faces, Orual seems to become more and more real. When I read the story, it doesn't feel to me like I'm reading a fictional narrative but the real account of an actual person's life. I feel like I'm reading about a smart, rational, but sensitive person, driven to cling to any love or acceptance due to rejection from everyone around her and a sense of inferiority and worthlessness. She wants a place because she has always felt pushed aside for her younger sister. She is hurt and craves love, and when she receives some, she clings onto it, onto those pieces of joy and acceptance. However, because she is afraid and insecure, she hangs on too tight, becoming jealous and obsessive, which eventually strangles any pure love she held towards others and twists it. It's a tragic story of a real person with real emotional and mental pain that led to poor decisions and deception that had real, horrible consequences. Perhaps I am reading things into the narrative, but as I contemplate Orual, those are my impressions. The feeling of reality is boosted by Lewis's personal, natural-sounding writing style and the insertions of little cultural bits sprinkled throughout the story, as if Glome had been a real place. What's more, Lewis wrote Orual's thoughts, how she came to those thoughts and her influences, in a matter that really seems/is logical. We completely understand Orual's thought process and sympathize, even agree, with her. Orual feels real, more so than any other fictional character I think I've ever encountered.
Finally, I wish to touch on the consequences of Orual's thoughts and actions as well as the story's ending. I don't know if you've read the book, so I'll try not to say too much, starting with the consequences in the story. I should probably mention that in discussing Orual's consequences, I will touch on the impact of other characters' thoughts and actions as well, as they influenced Orual's thoughts and actions in turn.
To summarize the ingredient of "consequences" in Faces, as far as I remember, pretty much every conversation or action has consequences. Even things that, when read the first time, see to just be on the side are brought back up and have direct influence on the story, whether with plot or Orual's character. The interactions between Orual and the three men closest to her, her father, the Fox, and Bardia, provide the best examples. Their words shape Orual's view of the world, one which I think reflects lewis's own pre-Christian confusion of "reason vs. myth/super-naturalality", her view of her self, and impact her actions. Each of these secondary characters, with their distinct attributes and human interactions, are irreplaceable in the narrative for their influence on Orual. Other characters of more distant relation (in terms of human relation, not bloodlines) and less frequent appearance, like Orual's sister Redival and the girl's old gossip caretaker, are essential and distinct in their influence, their words and actions directing the flow of the narrative river. However, (of course) it is Orual's actions, thoughts, and the application of those in relation to Psyche that are the most distinct in terms of consequences. How Orual interacts with Psyche ends up destroying the relationship they had, and Orual's thoughts following impacts not only her own character but also the entire country of Glome. Her thoughts and actions changer her country! Rather interesting it is, though, that Lewis pretty much glosses over these changes to to nation, focusing on the destruction that Orual brings to her personal relationships. Every single relationship of any significance mentioned in the story is ruined and twisted by Orual, the consequences of her thoughts and actions. For most of the book, twisted love has triumphed, and we sympathize, pity, and reprimand Orual, for she sowed the seeds of destruction and reaped it. In other words, Till We Have Faces is a record of twisted love and "real" (feels real) characters whose thoughts and actions have real, even far-reaching, consequences leading to a fitting climax and conclusion that I won't discuss here in case you haven't read the story.
These points in Faces pretty much describe everything lacking in Phatom. My favorite summary of Phantom's issues in to say that it suffers from the same problems I hear most often when describing the Twilight series: two guys in an unexplainable love with a blank-slate female in a story where a side character is more interesting and the conclusion falls flat for lack of consequences. Unlike with Faces, I will not spend much time on each point, as there isn't much to talk about, and I have no hard feelings about "spoiling" the story, not that there's much to spoil. Actually, saying that there's not much to talk about is a bit too harsh, but I stand on my point about spoiling. Most people know at least the general idea behind the plot, the solution to the mystery of the phantom, if you will. Any other potential moment of tension or mystery, or rather most other, is ruined by the author himself.
I suppose this point, this destruction of tension, would be a good start for discussion. I know it's not from the list of Twilight problems I mentioned, and not having read Twilight or watched the movies, I cannot say if this point applies. However, this is not an academic paper and I do not want to skip this important point nor have to rewrite these late two pages for the sake of structure. I ask you, as my reader, to forgive this selfish decision. Now then, onward!
To understand better my problem with the lack of tension in this story, we must address the genre of the book. The Phantom of the Opera is primarily a romance. However, this is a point I wish to discuss later as this topic of tension relates more to the story's secondary genre: mystery. Within the mystery genre, what makes a good mystery? In my opinion, it is not the idea of the audience getting to try and solve the case before the detective (which would exclude most, if not all, of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries) but rather the author's ability to keep the reader in suspense. We want to know who did it, how and why. We want to know if there will be more thefts or murders or whatever. We want to know if justice will prevail and the criminal stopped, but we won't know unless we read. Solving mysteries along the way beside the detective is what makes us read all the in between stuff and is a large appeal of many mystery masters like Agatha Christie, but it's the answers to the questions who, how, why, and what happens next that the reader is searching for. The tension of not knowing the answers and always feeling like a piece is missing or just out of reach is the great fun of a good mystery. Now then, if the questions and tension of finding answers is what makes a good mystery, what makes a great mystery? The answer is the same for every great book: even when you know the answers, even when you know what will happen, the story still takes you in. I know many people do end up getting sucked time and time again into even bad, poorly written stories, otherwise Phantom and Twilight wouldn't still be around, but please hear me out. The point I am making is that a truly great mystery can pull you into the mystery even when the tension is, supposedly, gone. My example is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Although I knew the story, although I had seen more than on adaptation of the story, although I knew the answers to just about every questions a mystery addresses, I was still sucked in. I knew the answers, but I was still caught up in the mystery: finding clues, seeing foreshadowing, accompanying the "detective" as he tried to find the answer. The tension that should have been gone grabbed me and kept me hooked. For that reason alone (and there are others) I think Jekyll and Hyde can be considered a great mystery.
So after all that discussion about mystery stories, what about Phantom? How does it measure up? Well, right from the start it faces the same problem Jekyll and Hyde does: pretty much everyone knows the solution. Everyone knows the identity of the Phantom, or at least has a general idea. With this, the tension is already weakened. However, even if this were not the case, Phantom would not be a good mystery, let alone a great one because Leroux did not know how to write tension... pretty much at all. To illustrate, I wish to address a non-mystery scene. The illustration involves two of the three main characters, the protagonist, Raoul, and the object of the story's love triangle, Christine. In this scene, Raoul, wishing after much effort to finally separate Christine from the Phantom, confronts her on the identity of this supposed specter. Christine complies, describing the first encounter she had and everything between then and now. She confessed and re-confesses that she loves Raoul but says she cannot be with him for fear of the Phantom. Raoul responds by declaring they should run away together, escape the Phantom, and be free together. Christine, who has been nervous all day and constantly checking Raoul's words and actions in case the Phantom might overhear them (in fact she brings Raoul to the roof of the opera house so they can converse in secret), agrees to run away with Raoul after a performance the following night she promised the Phantom she would do, if I remember correctly. Okay, so, looking at this scene, it had potential for great tension, wondering if they might succeed or perhaps be stopped as they try to run or even before they get a chance and however many other possibilities might be there. Where did the tension break? Right. From. The. Beginning.
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And there you have it. As I said, the letter remained unfinished, and while I might have writing something following this last paragrapm (it's been nearly a year, so I don't know), I cannot find it. I hope the overly-long paragraphs were not too out-putting, and I pray you had a wonderful Christmas and do have a Happy New Year, 2015! :)
Sincerely,
V. A. Boston
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